THE PROPHECY ☆ pulled a thread

[roan ;]

SOOTHSAYER ❝ ROAN ❞ THE TYPHOON

The approach of his half-sister caused Roan to lift his head, blue eyes moving from the slowly bleeding wound over to the small dealer. His face seemed to relax slightly, shifting from the grimacing expression he had been sporting. He sighed before shifting a little, sitting up so that his side wouldn't be against the sand, "I'm alright, Keona. I was just hunting for herbs, and a branch managed to snag the side of my pelt and... well, pulled. It doesn't look great, but it's hardly the worst thing I've seen." The worst part, really, was how slowly his blood was moving, clotted from decomposition and staining his usually clean blue fur. He was so focused on the unpleasantness of it all that he almost didn't notice Aphra approaching, his pelt pricking with hostility as soon as she spoke. The soothsayer sighed heavily, rolling his eyes before he muttered sarcastically, "Oh, why didn't I think of that? Just go into another body! Oh wait, I did think of it, and it didn't work. I don't have enough control over this power yet to go back." He dismissed her with a shake of his head and a snort, eventually triumphantly pulling out the bandages he had been looking for.

Thankfully, it didn't seem as though he was the only medical professional who would be dealing with this. His head turned when he heard his aunt dismissing Aphra as well, a soft bit of laughter leaving the medic as he shook his head. As she grew closer, asking whether or not he would need help, he gained a contemplative look on his face. Eventually he nodded, admitting softly, "Unfortunately, I do think I'll need a bit of help... I was just going to patch it up with bandages, but that's only a temporary solution. And I've never sewn anything before, let alone myself." None of his stitches had ever ripped before, and he hadn't even considered the possibility, so why would he have prepared?

DON'T ASK FOR HELP, YOU'RE ALL ALONE
YOU'LL HAVE TO ANSWER TO YOUR OWN PRESSURE!

— Reggan